


Reverence

by Dragonphage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, yes hello first smut work read at own discretion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonphage/pseuds/Dragonphage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders falls in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustinCOMS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustinCOMS/gifts).



Love lies in the soul but desire is of the flesh, both beg worship.

He finds himself entranced by a single bead of sweat at the nape of his neck one day, eyes tracing it with a focus he thought he’d lost for all things but the cause. Before the bead has fully dried into a perfect, pale line of salt he is already tracing another and another, as if he’s never noticed them before.

The image comes to him unbidden that night, of a drop falling down his neck down to a broad chest, heaving, flushed. Of tracing its path with his fingertip, of sending a spark up its trail, of watching him ripple and part under the pleasure. He moans and writhes but does not touch himself that night.

A different day it is the light. How it plays in the eyes of his, something, leader, it tugs at his heart but his body reacts all the same. It is at times like these he thanks control. Only when he is alone does he pick at what the man is doing to him. Only when he is alone is the almost and nearly a very much so and his heart aches in time with his neglected cock, for Hawke.

Tentatively, and it feels like it was years ago, it might have been in fact, he touches, probes and strokes and the shape is so familiar and not at all what he wants and so he whimpers but does not stop. The release is as hollow as he expects but it is something and it is enough, for now.

When his body is too tired his heart still has the energy to ache and it isn’t just the sweat or the eyes or the perfect curve of his damned lips anymore it’s his everything and he doesn’t need to jerk off to be of shortened breath, he needs only think of him. That’s when the fear settles in, along with a distant admonishment of things more important.

The fear does not go away all the way through the first grabbing kiss and oh Andraste he hadn’t meant to use tongue but with Hawke’s mouth so easily opened it was never an option to keep it the quick, soft thing he’d thought. It stays through the flirting and the glances and even when he catches Hawke staring much as he must’ve at other occasions.

When he is finally there in a bedroom not his own staring at the chin of the person he has professed to, he daren’t go higher, he is so used to the empty non-satisfaction of his own callouses, closing his eyes to imagine better, conjuring a wisp for the small promise of a ghosting presence so he can pretend it is not what it is, that he almost forgets to move at all. Forgets where he is and when he does remember it is a near thing he runs away. But, he licks his lips, for a chance to fulfill the desire, to live out the love, to seize happiness he will take this plunge.

It is not so much plunging though as he moves trying not to tremble too much before his hand touches a jaw covered in a trimmed, black beard and inclines his head ever so slowly.

His lips are softer than he remembers them but it may be the lack of urgency and desperation this time around. The beard scraping against his stubble causes a shiver from a thought of the deliciousness of such sensation elsewhere. Hands, hands everywhere and still not at all places he wants them to be.

In his hair, tugging, clawing, gripping. Bringing his head back, neck straining almost hurting but it’s a good hurt, even more so with the lips and the tongue brushing, licking, lapping at the curve, at his pulse. The nip is sudden but expected and gasping out he molds his form to the other man, too close to kiss, too close to undress reluctantly he steps back again but he is being tugged forward by nothing but the warmth of fingers he wants all over.

Falling on top of Hawke he begins to undo laces and buckles and the rustling of clothing fills the room but he’ll be damned if he hears any of it over the breath he wishes to swallow, take away, steal for his own. It is almost sinful how easily the red silk parts under his fingers. Licking and sucking at the chest beneath, working his way down the body and bed, finding his way to the floor again. Hawke looks up, weight on his elbows, lips kissed swollen red and pink, pupils blown, breath hitching as Anders fingers curl beneath the hem of his trousers and slowly pulls them down and off.

Here is the sensation he wants, has wanted for so long, in the sharp smell of a cock not his own, the feel of it hardening under his touch. In the warmth and the sound and with a groan he clasps his lips around the head. Hawke moans, he chimes in and scratches his blunt nails down his inner thigh, leaving red welts that sit in stark contrast. Keeping his focus on the head for a while Anders sucks and laps while stroking the slightly raised marks with his thumbs. When he finally sinks further, taking more in a single gulp Hawke lets out a high pitched squeak that gets quickly swallowed into a deeper moaning. Anders chuckles as he pulls back, beginning to bob his head.

There is a shift on the bed and he honestly cannot remember closing his eyes but warm hands come to rest in his shoulders and he sees the flushed face of his desire flashing that makerdamned smirk as he beckons him to come up again.

Hip resting against Hawkes thigh he splays a hand between his pectorals and sliding it downwards, brings his fingers slowly together into the natural dip in the middle of the stomach and then up again, spreading his slender digits into his chest hair. Hawke arches and rolls under his touch, breathing through his nose and pinching his lips between his teeth in a manner that cannot be pleasant.

Their eyes meet again from where Hawke was staring at his hand and Anders realizes he’s stopped moving. Hawkes lips fold out into their natural plush state again and part in a sigh. His eyes flicker toward them and he wants to kiss them again. Never stop.

The flurry of the beginning comes back and once again they’re making out like desperate teenagers, all hands and tongue and no finesse. Hawke makes a sound every time he grinds against him just the tiniest bit and some of the heavy breathing now could be attributed to Anders leaning too much of his weight on him but it’s not like either of them cares it’s all good.

The warrior’s hands stop grabbing at his sides and hips to come around his back where they grip and with a spin he’s on his back. Hawke bumps his forehead against his and then places a gentle peck against the tip of his nose. “You or me?” the words are soft, as his manners but not his body, oh certainly not his body.

His heart nearly stops with the anticipation as he chokes out his answer “You ON me, you _in_ me.”

It is Hawkes turn to chuckle slightly as Anders conjures grease and offers the cup of his palm. It is an odd thing, wishing it hadn’t been so blighted long so this would not take the time he knows it must and at the same time not because he enjoys having waited for this, having not given in to his baser needs and letting them all go now.

A wave of nostalgia hits him and he is glad for the lack of rush this time, that will perhaps be the only one though he hopes not so strongly it feels like it’s true.

The first finger brings a slight discomfort before his body slides into old habits again. Spreading his legs even more he wriggles his hips and bites his pouty lower lip, stroking Hawkes beard, down his throat to his clavicles and around his nipples. When he pinches them, Hawke jerks and the finger inside him too gets pulled in, up and just a little curved and it hits that spot and he throws his head back into the sheets, moaning and swearing.

As Hawke works up to another finger it is as if history is repeating itself, once again he is transfixed by the way light plays over the toned muscles and by the third one he is once again noticing the beads of sweat trailing down though this time he gets to see them travel down paths he always dreamed they did.

Hawke has been focusing on the point of entry during this time and when he looks up to ask if it’s okay like this Anders is completely overcome, he sucks in a breath half expecting it not to fit with this tightness in his chest but it does and he loves this man and he nods as he laces his fingers behind Hawkes neck.

The first try doesn’t go so well and Anders has to call upon more grease but after a quick coating of Hawkes erection it pops in with just a little bit of effort. Hawke is visibly shaking now, bowing his head to rest in the crook of his neck, alternately catching his breath and lazily nipping. Anders brushes his thighs against his sides as he circles his jaw with a thumb. Then he hooks his legs around Hawkes back, digging his heel into the small of the other man’s back, coaxing him forward until he is fully in.

Pulses of need radiate from inside and he shivers before starting to grind his hips. He doesn’t get far before Hawke crumbles and starts pounding into him in earnest. What comes after is a blur of meaty slaps and groans and moans and he may be scratching Hawkes back too hard but so far he is not hearing any complaints from the mouth panting so close to his ear and Hawke grabs at his hair again and then that mouth is at his throat again and maker, is he growling?

The building need heightens and then Hawke has the brilliant idea to grab is leaking cock and tug. The pleasure shoots through him like any old lightning spell and warm liquid coats his stomach but the buzzing aftershocks stay for another two, three pumps of Hawkes hips before he too tips over the edge. Surprisingly, he is silent in his release, mouth hanging open and eyes closed.

After a while, when their breathing has settled and even in the relative warmth of the fire his skin prickles with Goosebumps from the cold of drying sweat they lay there a contented heap and Hawke says he’ll clean the sheets tomorrow, probably, and it’s a bit wet and sticky but it’s already drying and Anders really doesn’t want to get up.

Hawke’s eyelids are already drooping with sleep when Anders gathers his final courage for the evening and strokes his lovers’ cheek with the back of his index finger. “I love you.”

Hawke grabs the hand with an inarticulate “mmm” and then promptly falls asleep.


End file.
